


The Mighty Answer of the Shaken Sky

by misbegotten



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9563723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: "What's his name?" Robbie finds himself asking.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title and quotation lifted from "Power" by Aleister Crowley.

The Scenes of Crime Officer has pretty much taken over the picturesque but dimly-lit setting by the time James shows up. That is unusual. Typically, James makes it to a crime scene before Robbie. He is also dressed down, casual but proper-like in a burgundy jumper and pressed trousers. Trying to make an impression on someone, Robbie deduces.

There is alcohol on his breath.

Call outs happen at all hours, so it is bound to come up once in a while. Robbie fumes silently, but says nothing. He won't risk James on suspension for a single slip. He has to reassure himself about one thing, though. "Drive yourself?" Robbie asks.

"No sir." James flushes. "My date dropped me off."

"Oh," Robbie says, his anger draining away. James knows better. Robbie knows that James knows better. There's a twinge of something else to replace the anger, something that Robbie pushes aside, and he says lightly, "You'll have to introduce us."

"I'm not sure--" James begins, then looks around and drops his voice. "I'm not sure it will get to that, sir. He's not exactly working out."

 _He_ , thinks Robbie. Well then. They've come a long way from Yorkie bars and intimations. Robbie's still got that twinge gnawing at him, but mostly he feels relief. He doesn't want to be mad at James.

Robbie pats his trouser pockets for keys. "They'll be hours yet," he says with a jerk of his chin at the others milling about. Laura has already been and gone, as has the poor corpse. There are no clues yet, no suspects, and most importantly no identity. Robbie has already arranged for door-to-door questioning by junior officers, but there are few enough residents in the area to make a proper job of it. There's not much he and James can do except check Missing Persons, and that's not a two man job. He says as much to James and adds, "Let us give you a ride home?"

"Yes," James says gratefully. He follows Robbie to the car, gets in the passenger side, and as Robbie starts the engine James flicks the radio station over to Radio 3. Robbie had been listening to sport on the way in. To his surprise, James flushes. Robbie can see it in the streetlight, high colour on his cheeks. "Sorry, sir. Habit." James starts toward the radio button again but Robbie puts up a hand.

"It's fine," he says. That's the end of conversation until they reach James' flat, when James clears his throat.

"Come up for tea?" he asks. 

It's in Robbie's head to beg off, to head back to the nick, but there's little he can do until they get a preliminary report from the coroner and the door-to-door canvas. "Yeah, alright then," he says, and follows in James' wake.

James is fidgety, it strikes him. He wonders what's going on in his sergeant's head. With James, it could be anything from the esoteric to the practical. Wide-ranging thinker is our James, Robbie muses. Then he nearly laughs aloud. "Our" James indeed. When had he become proprietary about James?

"What's his name?" Robbie finds himself asking. Where on earth had that come from? Now that he's asked, though, Robbie wants to know.

James' lips quirk. "James," he says. "Jim, actually."

"Ah," Robbie says in reply, suddenly struck with the image of James and his formerly anonymous namesake having drinks at the pub. Up close. Personal. 

Not his business, he tells himself firmly. 

"Funny that," he says instead as they enter the flat. He knows his way around James' kitchen well enough to start the kettle and fetch the sugar bowl while James fishes mugs out of the dish drainer. "But it's not on?" he asks.

"Not really, no," James admits. He drops tea bags into the cups and leans with his back against the worktop as they wait for the kettle to boil. "Nothing there, I think."

"Ah," Robbie says again.

"You're beginning to sound like my doctor," James says. "Aaaaaah." But there's an edge to his voice too, and Robbie wonders at it. Maybe he's stepped over the line, Robbie thinks uncomfortably. 

"It was a simple enough question," he says defensively.

"Simple enough of an answer for you?" James replies. There's that edge, definite now. Robbie feels rather as if he's stumbled into a minefield. The conversation is rapidly getting out of control. If you can call it a conversation. Verbal sniping is not their usual form.

Colour is high on James' cheeks again, and Robbie pauses to wonder just how many drinks the lad had before he arrived at the scene.

Or, he thinks with dismay, what else James might have been up to. Normal people have _lives_ , he reminds himself. 

Robbie clears his throat awkwardly. "I didn't mean anything by it," he starts. "I just wondered if you were-- are--"

"Yes?" James prods him. He seems to be itching for a confrontation. Robbie thinks it's best to retire gracefully before they land in territory that really is out of bounds.

"I'll go," he says. James starts, as if Robbie has woken him from a reverie, and his lips turn down unhappily.

"Sir, I didn't mean to imply that you had done anything wrong," James begins. Before he can say more, the kettle rolls to a boil. Robbie starts to take a step towards it, to flip off the switch, but that puts him in close proximity to James.

And then James closes the distance between them. He leans in and brushes his lips against Robbie's.

Robbie's flabbergasted. "Just how much have you had to drink?" he sputters.

James draws back, closes his eyes. "Obviously too much." He raises his hands, buries his face in them. "Please, forgive me." His voice is muffled in his hands. "I don't know what I'm doing. Please," he says again, and drops his hands. There's sheer terror in his expression. "Forget I did that. Please."

Robbie stands there awkwardly. "Can't bloody well forget it, can I?" What is he to do? His sergeant has just tried to kiss him.

And he liked it.

There's the nub of the problem. He doesn't know how to quantify his mixed-up feelings for James right now. There'd been a bit of jealousy, meant to be puzzled over and analysed later. Feeling uncomfortable, certainly, at the thought of James with another man. _Another_ man, not Robbie. And then there was the precipitous flip of his stomach when James leaned in... 

He'll talk himself round in circles at this rate. When in doubt, decide on a course of action and see it through.

Robbie cups a hand behind James' neck and pulls him in for another, a proper kiss. Teeth and tongue and all in, he thinks. 

James responds with surprised enthusiasm. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, a kind of sigh, and melts against Robbie. 

Lanky git, Robbie thinks fondly as he cranes his neck back to reach him properly. "Why'd you have to be so tall?" he complains.

James laughs explosively, a hoarse sound. "There are ways to remedy that problem."

Oh. Oh! Robbie's groin stirs. "You do nothing by halves," he says.

James responds by putting his hands on Robbie's shoulders and leaning in for another kiss. Hungry, this time. 

Robbie's at war with himself. He doesn't want to lose his bagman. He doesn't want to take advantage. But he definitely doesn't want to say no to this. "How much _have_ you had to drink?"

"One cider," James admits.

"Cider?" Robbie is aghast. "What sort of bloke is this Jim anyway? Can't even offer you a proper drink?"

James starts to shake, quaking with laughter. "Christ Robbie," he says into Robbie's shoulder, wrapping his long arms around him. "Is that all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say? That the thought of you with another man makes me insane?" 

James stills. He's pressed up against Robbie, and his sudden lack of movement elsewhere makes it entirely clear where there is movement at his groin. "Yes," James says.

"Alright," Robbie admits, and realises he's being quite honest about it. "It drives me mad."

"Thank God for that," James says, then sucks on Robbie's lower lip. "I thought I'd never trip you."

"Well you've got me now." It's a little hard to talk between kisses. Robbie is definitely hot and bothered. "What are you going to do with me?"

James grins. "What if I wank you off right here?"

"In the kitchen?" The world is spinning out of control and Robbie feels lightheaded. "That seems rather... unsanitary."

"Fuck sanitary," James says. He wrestles with Robbie's flies, manages to get them undone, and puts a hand in Robbie's shorts. Robbie's cock stiffens obligingly, particularly when James grasps him firmly and runs his thumb over the tip. Robbie's knees nearly buckle when James gets on the floor and pulls Robbie's trousers down. "You want this?" James asks, looking up at him from half-closed lids.

"Yes," Robbie says fervently. Oh god yes, does he want nothing more than for James to do things, _everything_ , to him.

James nuzzles Robbie's groin, inhales Robbie's scent before licking his lips lightly and then teasing Robbie's erection with his tongue. 

Robbie puts his hands behind him on the worktop for support and manages, "Thought you were going to wank me off?"

"This is more fun," James says, and then engulfs Robbie.

Fuck, Robbie thinks, trying simultaneously not to choke James with the reflexive thrust of his cock and making every effort not to come immediately at James' touch. Fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck.

James puts a hand at the base of Robbie's cock to steady him, and bobs his head as nicely as could be to fill Robbie's senses with wonder. The sheer bliss of James sucking the life out of him nearly whites out his vision, and Robbie realises that his internal monologue has become an external one.

"Mmm," James hums happily. His other hand is at Robbie's hip, digging in almost painfully as he hangs on to Robbie. As if Robbie is going to leave at a moment like this.

His wits have definitely left him, that's for sure. Robbie groans at James' ministrations and grips the worktop more tightly. He wants nothing more than to run his hands through James' hair, to grab on and guide James' talented lips, but he's afraid of being too rough.

James seems to have no such concerns. Robbie whimpers pathetically when James lets him go with an obscene pop. There's spit glistening on his lip, and Robbie wants to kiss it off, but he knows that if he lets go of the furnishings he may very well collapse in a heap. "Ready?" James asks, practically toying with him, and Robbie just nods, not trusting his voice.

James wreaks havoc on him then, and Robbie's knees tremble as he starts to lose control. "Pet," he manages, not wanting to come down James' throat, but James lets loose the base of Robbie's cock and pulls Robbie's hips in forcefully, and then there's nothing for Robbie to do but give in.

He's wrecked as James swallows, nearly falls when he lets go of the worktop and puts a hand gently on the top of James' head. "Good lad," he says, and James grins up at him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Woof," he says cheerfully. 

"I didn't mean it like that," Robbie says apologetically, but James is full of mirth now that he's messed up his guv'nor thoroughly. 

"Robbie, I never thought I'd get to do this."

"Oh," Robbie says, starting to feel rather silly standing in James' kitchen with his trousers and pants around his ankles. He ought to have at least taken off his shoes and boring black socks, he thinks wistfully. He'd feel less like he just walked into the middle of a porno.

The sight of James kneeling before him is a joy to behold, however. James is clearly pleased with himself and when he gets up and wraps his arms around Robbie, Robbie relaxes into the embrace.

"Me old knees won't stand for your kitchen floor," he says apologetically. "But if you'd like to try the bed, I'd be happy to return the favour."

"Robert Lewis, you are a gentleman of the first calibre."

"There's nothing gentlemanly about my intentions, James." Robbie sighs. "At the risk of destroying the mood, we've got a corpse to attend to. But I think we can take a bit more to see to you, love."

James stills at that. Then, his voice husky, comes. "Say it again."

Robbie smiles into James' shoulder. "Love," he says distinctly. "I love you, James Hathaway. Have done for a while now, I suppose."

James shivers, and his grip on Robbie tightening. Then, as Robbie starts to kick his way out of the trousers, he lets go and steps back to allow Robbie room.

"The stars that shudder when their king extends his hand," he says in his _I'm quoting someone you've never heard of_ voice.

Robbie toes off his shoes. "And to think the priests found you frivolous." There's nothing angelic in James' answering look.

It's a promise, more like. Of many splendid things to come. And Robbie can't wait.


End file.
